NOW, about Brad Pitt‘s story in Feb ruary’s W magazine. He says he and Jennifer Aniston “still check in with one another.” OK by me. Not that any of the three principals – including Angelina – care if it’s okay by me but it is okay by me because what you should know is, they’re all nice people. Brad’s always been pleasant, friendly, no airs. Jennifer is invariably sweet, obliging, easy to talk to. And whenever I’ve seen Angelina she’s been warm, outgoing, very undiva-ish.

But ears that have lain close to Brad’s mouth say he and Jennifer are not personally conducting one-on-one conversations. That, in fact, there hasn’t been person-to-person communication in “years.” The precise amount of years at which they place this lack of direct communication is “three.”

They also say, possibly a friend of one of the trio possibly earns a few quid by possibly feeding tidbits to supermarket tabloids that possibly pay for tips. Possibly. Is all I’m saying.

THE Grateful Dead, gratefully alive, are reuniting. Again. Their first reunion after Jerry Garcia died went nowhere. The hills did not come alive with their sound of music. So, now, each has his own solo operation but none appear to be making music financially except for Phil Lesh, whose band Phil Lesh and Friends sells out whenever he performs. Anyway, this is all I know except maybe just maybe the idea to get back together came when Phil and the other surviving members performed at a fund-raiser for Barack. And do not ask Barack who. Barack Schwartz there isn’t.

PAUL Anka is also revving up big time. Working with an editor on a book about his life for St. Martin which, he tells me, will then evolve into a Broadway show. Ooohhh, has he got luscious stories about Sinatra and the rest of that crowd. Along with his memory, he also has a nifty sense of humor. Remember reading about that little marital misunderstanding which ended with the missus tossing an ice cube at him? Well, he sent a gift, a cut-glass Faberge ice bucket, to a friend. The note read: “Ice is the theme in the Anka home.”

COMING at us come August is Nancy Grace‘s new Hyperion book “The Eleventh Victim: A Thriller.” One-time Atlanta prosecutor, the CNN anchor – whose own fiancé was murdered – has created a female character named Hailey. This Hailey is a hotshot prosecutor in – ta-da! – Georgia, but her fiancé gets murdered, and she then heals her hurt by splitting for the bright lights of NYC. Nancy Grace’s debut novel.

PAUL McCartney is getting lifestyle advice from – ready? It’s that up standing paragon of virtue Mick Jagger to whom he has been turning for advice . . . And who’s helping Britney get her blond head back on straight? Why, none other than that lady who has her own blond head on straight – A-Rod‘s ladyfriend Madonna. She’s trying to nudge Ms. Spears back into kabbalah.

STOCKS and Bombs: In the ’80s we were bear-ish, in the ’90s bull-ish. Today? Broke-ish. And, with the market so low we have a new class of investor, the Nouveau Poor. Said one talking-head analyst: “I’m putting whatever I have left into UMM.” United Money Market? “No. Under My Mattress.”

LETTER from MTA chairman Dale Hemmerdinger complaining about my complaining about the non-Second Avenue subway’s ongoing forever construction mess: “We’ve taken steps to help businesses survive. Even launched a ‘Shop Second Avenue’ campaign . . . Modern technology will dramatically limit the impact of this project as compared to subway construction in decades past . . . We are on schedule for completion in 2015. If we don’t undertake large projects we will never achieve anything . . . The subway, which is safer than it’s ever been, will create thousands of jobs and dramatically relieve crowding on the bursting-at-the-seams Lexington Avenue line.”

Thank you, Mr. Hemmerdinger, and thank you in advance for New York’s Underground Credit Card which we’ll all need to hop that future subway ride.

A LATE night Central Park walk by the pond near the Plaza. A man and his leashed pup. Suddenly rummaging, growling and digging around the bushes, this Akita eventually backs out clutching something in her mouth. The owner pries open those jaws and, by the light of the moon, discovers his adored dog’s adored prize. A full set of dentures. Perfectly positioned in her mouth like a smile. This is to let whoever’s wandering around toothless know you did not swallow your molars. No matter what you were engaged in when they dropped out – this is what happened to them.